[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

of the stage. The velvet curtain was drawn back to both sides and I
could see his dark figure plainly in the orchestra pit. He was sitting in
his old place, his hands folded in his lap. He was facing me but he
didn't notice me. He was staring off as he had done all along. And the
memory came back to me of Gabrielle's strange words the night after I
had made her, that she could not get over the sensation that she had
died and could affect nothing in the mortal world. He appeared that
lifeless and that translucent. He was the still, expressionless specter
one almost stumbles over in the shadows of the haunted house, all but
melded with the dusty furnishings-the fright that is worse perhaps
than any other kind. I looked to see if the violin was there-on the
floor, or against his chair-and when I saw that it wasn't, I thought,
Well, there is still a chance.
"Stay here and watch, " I said to Gabrielle. But my heart was
knocking in my throat when I looked up at the darkened theater, when
I let myself breathe in the old scents. Why did you have to bring us
here, Nicki? To this haunted place? But then, who am I to ask that? I
had come back, had I not? I lighted the first candle I found in the old
prima donna's dressing room. Open pots of paint were scattered
everywhere, and there were many discarded costumes on the hooks.
All the rooms I passed were full of cast-off clothing, forgotten combs
and brushes, withered flowers still in the vases, powder spilled on the
floor. I thought of Eleni and the others again, and I realized that the
faintest smell of les Innocents lingered here. And I saw very distinct
naked footprints in the spilled powder. Yes, they'd come in. And they
had lighted candles, too, hadn't they? Because the smell of the wax was
193
too fresh. Whatever the case, they hadn't entered my old dressing
room, the room that Nicki and I had shared before every performance.
It was locked still. And when I broke open the door, I got an ugly
shock. The room was exactly the way I'd left it. It was clean and
orderly, even the mirror polished, and it was filled with my belongings
as it had been on the last night I had been here. There was my old coat
on the hook, the castoff I'd worn from the country, and a pair of
wrinkled boots, and my pots of paint in perfect order, and my wig,
which I had worn only at the theater, on its wooden head. Letters
from Gabrielle in a little stack, the old copies of English and French
newspapers in which the play had been mentioned, and a bottle of
wine still half full with a dried cork. And there in the darkness beneath
the marble dressing table, partly covered by a bundled black coat, lay a
shiny violin case. It was not the one we'd carried all the way from
home with us. No. It must hold the precious gift I'd bought for him
with the "coin of the realm " after, the Stradivarius violin. I bent down
and opened the lid. It was the beautiful instrument all right, delicate
and darkly lustrous, and lying here among all these unimportant
things. I wondered whether Eleni and the others would have taken it
had they come into this room. Would they have known what it could
do? I set down the candle for a moment and took it out carefully, and
I tightened the horsehair of the bows as I'd seen Nicki do a thousand
times. And then I brought the instrument and the candle back to the
stage again, and I bent down and commenced to light the long string
of candle footlights. Gabrielle watched me impassively. Then she
came to help me. She lit one candle after another and then lighted the
sconce in the wings. It seemed Nicki stirred. But maybe it was only
the growing illumination on his profile, the soft light that emanated
out from the stage into the darkened hall. The deep folds of the velvet
came alive everywhere; the ornate little mirrors affixed to the front of
the gallery and the loges became lights themselves. Beautiful this little
place, our place. The portal to the world for us as mortal beings. And
the portal finally to hell. When I was finished, I stood on the boards
looking at the gilded railings, the new chandelier that hung from the
ceiling, and up at the arch overhead with its masks of comedy and
tragedy like two faces stemming from the same neck. It seemed so
much smaller when it was empty, this house. No theater in Paris
seemed larger when it was full. Outside was the low thunder of the
boulevard traffic, tiny human voices rising now and then like sparks [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]